


Untangle

by Erry



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erry/pseuds/Erry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack puts the same level of enthusiasm into sex as he does his other two favourite pastimes: yelling, and shooting people in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untangle

**Author's Note:**

> Set post TFTBL, with Jack back in his own body and Rhys working for him.  
> Contains mild bondage (very briefly, so I didn't tag it) and implied/mild masochism.

Jack hasn't forgotten him, Rhys is pretty sure of that. No, this is all part of it: the waiting.

Rhys shifts around on his knees, stretching up to try and relieve the tightness of the rope around his wrist that is holding his hand above his head, the other end tied to a metal fixture Rhys is pretty sure was installed just for this purpose.

His other arm is on the coffee table on the other side of the room, right where he'd left it in a haze of jack-induced lust two hours earlier.

That bastard. He should have known he was planning something like this. It's the first time Jack's taken him to his actual apartment rather than his office. That's practically a special occasion.

Rhys shivers. He's totally naked, apart from the rope around his wrist, and Jacks lounge is _cold,_ and the carpet is scratchy.

So all in all, Rhys is no longer turned on, he's fucking freezing, his arm is numb and he's pissed off. And knowing Jack, that's exactly what the guy is aiming for. Jack gets off on the weirdest stuff, sometimes.

Out of boredom, Rhys has scanned everything in sight with his ECHO eye. He knows exactly how much that painting of a load of angry red colours on the wall is worth, and that Jack has enough weaponry to outfit a small militia hidden in a safe behind it. He knows that the wood floorboards are made from a tree that is now extinct, and he knows that he's _really fucking bored,_ okay Jack? He leans forwards, letting his weight rest entirely on that one arm and the rope, and the pain in his muscle is intense, making his eyes water.

The door unlocks with a clunk, and Rhys hears footsteps in the hallway.

'Hey cupcake, didja miss me?' Jack says loudly, kicking his shoes off- Rhys hears them hit the floor. Jack sounds cheerful, which means his _shit pumpkin, I gotta go sort this thing_ must have gone okay, if it was even real and not just a ploy to leave Rhys to stew himself into a nice temper for a few hours.

Rhys doesn't answer- two can play at that game.

Normally ignoring Jack is a sure-fire way to rile him up, but today it just seems to make him even more damn cheerful.

'Aw Rhysie, was I away too long?' Jack finally steps into sight, sticking his head around the door frame and grinning nastily at him. 'Need anything? Drink? Food?'

Rhys glowers at him, but it changes to a grimace as something in his shoulder spasms painfully. He lets out a whimper, _mostly_ involuntarily, and Jack's smile gets wider. 'Oh, _very_ nice.'

His clothes rustle as he pads sock-footed across the lounge towards Rhys. Rhys does his best to communicate his discomfort with a look of pure disdain, but then Jack puts a warm hands on his arm, rubbing the sore muscles, and _fuuuuck_ but its good. Rhys barely hesitates to lean into it, and Jack chuckles but he doesn't take his hands away and that's the important bit. Rhys rests his head against Jack's stomach, and mouths gratefully against the shirt material. Jack's hand slides away from his arm, up his neck and grabs a handful of hair. He pulls it sharply.

'None of that, yet,' he warns. Rhys reluctantly leans back. He's pretty sure that there isn't an inch of him that isn't goose-pimpled, and he's shivering in the not-fun way.

Jack's fingers trail up Rhys's arm, stopping when they reach the rope at his wrist. The knot is tight, and resists Jacks attempts to undo it at first and he swears quietly, shaking it and Rhys along with it. When it finally releases him, Rhys is pretty sure he'll have to get another Hyperion-issue arm because his real one is on _fire_. He curls over, clutching at his arm and gasping his way through the pain. He doesn't notice Jacks hand on his spine, stroking up and down and up and down until the initial searing agony starts to abate, leaving him with a dull aching and wet eyes.

He lets himself focus on the movement of the hand, the scuff of calloused fingers on his skin, the way Jack's breathing has turned heavy. Rhys looks up at him blearily, and the look he gets back is almost sweet. Fond. And damn it if that doesn't get Rhys a little hard.

'Let's move this somewhere a little warmer, huh, Pumpkin?' Jack slides his hand under Rhys’s arm, and Rhys hisses as he's pulled up onto his feet. He stumbles, bumping into Jack, but Jack doesn't say anything and presses a hand against the small of Rhys’s back and pushes him gently towards what Rhys assumes is the door to his bedroom.

It is. It's a bedroom and there's a _bed_. A double bed! The only bed they've fucked in before was Rhys's single in his narrow apartment room, Jack's hand shoved in his mouth because the walls are thin and Vaughn has a _very important meeting tomorrow, Rhys, so could you guys uh, do your thing quietly? So I can pretend that my CEO isn't fucking my best friend in the room next door to me?_

Rhys hadn't suggested they go back to his place since then, mostly because the whole evening had been awkward as hell, the three of them eating take out on Rhys-and-Vaughn's sofa, but also a bit because Rhys's apartment is tiny and Jack's personality is huge and didn't fit, somehow, and Rhys was embarrassed by the cramped dinginess of it all.

So, other than that it's been Jacks desk, the office couch, and that memorable time pressed up against the big window overlooking Elpis and a great big chunk of space; which had given Rhys an existential crisis and an orgasm simultaneously.

Jack's double bed is something else. Rhys flops onto it, face-first and still shivering, and just lies there with his head buried in soft warm sheets. He can hear Jack shedding clothes, the clink of his belt buckle, then the bed dipping and a warm body leaning over him.

'Hope you're not planning on letting me do all the work while you laze around,' Jack says. He pokes a finger roughly into the meat of Rhys's shoulder, earning himself a pained squawk.

‘Turn over,’ Jack demands, even though Rhys is already trying to, limbs as uncoordinated as always and nearly socking Jack in the face, earning himself a sharp ‘ _watch it, idiot!’_ and a quick slap to his thigh.

Rhys is barely on his back before Jack is all over him; going straight for his neck to worry at the bruise he’d left earlier, his skin like fire against Rhys’s gooseflesh. Rhys presses up into the heat, whimpering as Jack’s teeth clamp down hard and ouch, jeez, is that going to break the skin? ‘Cause Vaughn already side-eyes the bruises, even though Rhys tries to explain that bruises are _uh, kind of a thing for me, bro? Y’know…a thing?_ And he might do something stupid like try and punch Jack if he sees blood or-

‘Sorry, kiddo, am I distracting you?’ Jack pulls away, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. ‘We could do this some other time. When you’re not busy thinking about… robots or whatever it is you do when you’re not thinking about my mouth on your cock.’

Rhys’s brain short circuits.

‘Wuh,’ he says helpfully. Jack’s sneer slides into a grin.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ He leans in again but lower this time, dragging his mouth down Rhys’s chest and over the softness of his stomach. Rhys finds Jack’s hair with his hand, weaves it round his fingers, scratches his nails against his scalp. It makes Jack groan or growl against Rhys’s hip- he can’t tell which, just feel it vibrate and the exhale that comes with it on his skin.

Jack pauses, mouth centimetres away from where Rhys really, really would like it to be, please. He pauses and shoots Rhys that obnoxious smile that he saves for really smug occasions.

‘Jaaack,’ Rhys whines. _‘Please!’_ Because the faster Jack gets what he wants, the faster Rhys gets what _Rhys_ wants.

Which is awesome, mind-bending sex, in case that’s not clear enough.

Thankfully, Jack’s ego seems to have been appeased and his mouth closes over Rhys’s dick. Rhys squirms at the feel of _hot wet hot_ and the dig of Jack’s fingers into his hip and the sharp cold catch of a mask clasp snagging his inner thigh as Jack’s head moves between his legs.

Jack puts the same level of enthusiasm into sex as he does his other two favourite pastimes: yelling, and shooting people in the face. Rhys is pretty sure he even still tries to _talk_ down there, muffled sounds that vibrate and make Rhys go cross-eyed.

Just when he thinks that this is all going to be over far too quickly, Jack releases him; breathing hard and wiping spit from his chin.

‘Don’t stop.’ Rhys sounds pathetic and he knows it, but can’t keep the plaintive tone out of his voice.

‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ Jack says, a rasp to his words that makes something in Rhys’s belly squirm. ‘We’re not done yet.’ He drags himself back up the bed until they’re face to face, his hands pressing down the blankets on either side of Rhys’s shoulders. Rhys cranes his neck up and meets Jack’s mouth in a clumsy kiss whilst he reaches down with his hand, feels out Jack’s cock and wraps his fingers around it.

The resulting sound makes Rhys ache all over. Jack’s mouth stops feeling soft on his own, and turns to biting; Rhys’s tongue, his lips, his chin.

‘Where’s the fucking lube,’ Jack growls into the not-kiss. (Rhys supresses the urge to tease-‘the _fucking_ lube, as opposed to the non-fucking lube, Jack?’- only because he doesn’t want a repeat of that one time they’d run out and Jack suggested they use the machine oil Rhys has to keep his arm in condition. Rhys had refused. Adamantly.)

‘How should I know? This is _your_ apartment,’ he reminds him instead.

Jack grunts in a ‘ _yeah, totally hadn’t forgotten that because I have my extremely hot, stunning and also smart subordinate in my bed’_ way, and extricates himself from their tangle of limbs to reach for the bedside cabinet. Rhys takes the opportunity to wriggle deeper into the soft sheets, touching himself idly as Jack rummages, his eyes half-closed and long limbs stretched out-

Jack unceremoniously and _completely unsexily_ squirts lube onto Rhys’s groin, and Rhys shrieks.

‘Agh, that’s fu-ucking cold, Jack you asshole!’ he yelps, and Jack successfully dodges his flailing limbs, sniggering.

‘What, were you having fun without me, cupcake?’

Oh, Rhys hates that stupid grin so, _so_ much.

‘Huh, Rhys?’ Jack rolls back on top of him when he doesn’t answer. The lube sort of… _squishes_ between them, and Rhys pulls a face. But then Jack rolls his hips and all is forgiven. So very forgiven. Terrible manners in bed, what’s that?

 

Jack breathes hot on Rhys’s neck and in his ear as he thrusts, cock sliding in the crease of his hip. Rhys presses up into the lean body on top of him, mouth open, panting hard; loving the crash of their bodies together, loving the bruising grip of fingers on his upper arm, loving…well, pretty much everything about this, really, and never wanting it to stop whilst simultaneously _needing_ to come because it’s too much, _too much._

In the end he’s not sure which of them finishes first because his own orgasm is a bit like being trampled by a rakk hive, in the overwhelming and _I’m going to die_ sense.

He doesn’t _actually_ die, of course. Though if that happened, Jack would probably be smug about it.

His satisfied chuckle rumbles against Rhys’s chest. He’s draped over him, loose limbed and fucking heavy, and cutting the circulation off in Rhys’s left leg.

‘Shower?’ Rhys mumbles, though he’s not sure he could actually move, even if he really wanted to.

‘Lemme bask a minute, Rhysie,’ Jack says. His hair has gone flat, bedraggled from sweat and Rhys’s hand. Rhys has to suppress the urge to reach for the mask, to know what he looks like unravelled completely. He’s not allowed to know that, and probably never will be.

And, insatiable curiosity aside, he’s okay with that.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise surprise, I have a tumblr! Come say hi: erry-c.tumblr.com


End file.
